Half remembered book plots
Faded thoughts of people I
thought maybe I once knew
My past a blur, of things,
places, things that are long.
gone
How much was my life, really?
How much did “I”, actually live?
Was nothing really real?
It was like so many lines in a
diary, written by a stranger
From the present, I see what had
been the past, at least the past I
was told about , melt away as a
new one comes into view, a totally
alien past that has nothing to do
with my memories form.
I am left standing on a road I
don’t recognize, looking at present as
changing as malleable
Not knowing where I came from, nor
where I am..
Knowing I’m heading toward a future
that will not be written by my hand,
But..
Penned by an as yet unknown
Other.

An Original Poem by H.R. Beebe